


The Lonely Call

by MarsDragon



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Afterlife, Gen, Ghosts, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 09:37:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21097325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarsDragon/pseuds/MarsDragon
Summary: There is a gap between life and death, and there is a vessel to guide souls across. So it is, so it has always been.





	The Lonely Call

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azurefishnets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azurefishnets/gifts).

There is a gap between life and death, and there is a vessel to guide souls across. So it is, so it has always been.

The form of the vessel that bridges the gap varies, though the truth of it is always the same. It has been a raft and a boat, an airship and a caravan, a chariot and a train. There is always a master to the vessel, sometimes a man and sometimes a woman, inasmuch as it can be either. Such beings are not bound by human rules. The master soothes the souls of the passed, reminds them of the schedules, and ushers them into the world of death. He is there because humans need him to be there, as much they need the vessel he serves. So it is, so it has always been.

In the old days, when humans and espers lived together, the vessel took the form of a mighty chariot, pulled through the air by strange creatures, beings of wing and flame, of scale and air. That was an age of wonders and marvels, when magic was commonplace and the gods still ruled. Of course it could not last. Between seasons, between days, between moments, war engulfed the world.

It was then the queen came. 

The chariot then was a lovely thing, suiting that age. The inside was patterned with mosaic, gleaming within twisting lines of silver, and soft velvet cushions lay scattered about, for lounging and conversing on the journey. It was like the vessels the magi used when they sliced through the air in the name of their warring gods. There was but one difference: this one took all who came to it alike. 

The queen stood at the edge of the staging ground and addressed the master, who now bore the form of a driver, carrying whip and lash. She said: "but where is my love?"

The driver bowed in respect for the passed. "If he is not here he is not dead," he replied.

The queen shook her head. "He would not let me die while he still had breath in his body. He was a faithful esper, loyal to the end. If I am here, so must he."

"That is the reason, then. Espers do not come here," the driver said. "Now hurry along, others are waiting."

"They do not come?" The queen's hands tightened in her gown. "Then where do they go?"

"Their power becomes magicite, but their spirits...that I do not know. Perhaps they stay in the magicite, perhaps they rejoin the stream of magic. All I can tell you is that I have never seen an esper here. Come, we are about to leave." The driver turned away.

"No." The queen stood as if she were made of iron, her dress of magic-spun cloudsilk floating around her. "You have taken much from me, ghost chariot. You have taken my parents and my husband, my children and my brother, my knights and my kingdom, but you will not take my beloved?" The driver was silent, and the queen continued. "If he is not here, then I will go to him. I will remain in the world until I can see him once again, to let him know my true feelings."

"If you are here, there is nothing left for you in the world."

"There is a body of stone. If stone is good enough for an esper, then it is good enough for me." With that the queen turned and left the staging ground, walking the path back to the world of the living. The driver watched her go without feeling. The guides of the dead had no rest in those days, when new souls flowed in as soon as they could take them. She could take the next departure when she gave up on her foolish quest.

But the queen did not return. 

In time the war ended, and much later the flow of souls lessened. Humans could no longer believe in fantastic journeys through the air in the lap of luxury, and so the vessel changed. For a time after the war it was a simple raft, and from there it became a boat, first one pulled by sails, and then one pushed by machines. Long, long after the war, when magi and espers both had faded into myth, it became a train, rushing along an appointed track, billowing hot smoke. 

It was then the woman came. 

The train had a firm schedule then, and a platform for souls to wait until it arrived. The master had become a conductor, wearing a tall hat and a fine black coat with bright buttons. The train had sixteen cars with bright lights and plush benches, along with a special dining car staffed by chefs that couldn't give up the luxuries of taste just yet. They served every soul that came to them, and were glad to do it.

The woman nervously held to the edge of the platform, examining every soul that passed through the gates. Her hair was tangled and her cotton blouse soaked with rain and blood. When the conductor cried "All aboard!" she ran to him, saying: "Please sir, my child isn't here!"

The conductor spoke kindly to her, for he was used to distraught souls. "If your child is not here, then they are not yet dead."

The words did not soothe the woman. She plucked at her skirt of esper-wool and shook her head. "I know my husband must be magicite and I may not ever see him again, but my daughter-" Her voice caught. "Please, let me wait for her!"

"The next train isn't until tomorrow," the conductor said. "You can see the schedule above the ticketing office. But I'll warn you, if your husband is an esper...I do not know if your daughter will be here. I have never taken a half-esper."

"Do you mean there has never been another half-esper...or that-" The woman's face was pale.

The conductor shrugged. "A half-esper has never rode this train. That's all I can tell you."

The woman stepped back, defeated. "All right, I understand. I'll wait, if it's all the same to you." Without waiting for a reply, she went back to her post at the entrance. 

The train left, and returned, and left again three times before the woman boarded. The only thing she said to the conductor was: "I want to believe she survived, but I don't know if that should make me happy or sad."

It was not long after the train lost its schedule again.

The vessel changed a few times after that, briefly becoming a raft again, then a broken-down steamship, and finally a newer, less luxurious train. It was spare and functional: a new machine for a new age, one without the taint of magic. 

It was then the old woman came.

The conductor had become more ragged over the years, his fine coat becoming patched and worn, but his hat was well-kept and his shoes were new. The train itself had become narrower and more grimy, but faster and more reliable. But mist still clung to the platform, and the train still groaned with a human voice. Some mysteries are not so easily killed.

The old woman walked directly up to it and stared with an abundance of curiosity and a complete lack of surprise. Her hair was grey and her face lined, though more with love and laughter than tears. Her garments were rough homespun except for the finely-patterned machine-silk shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and her fingers still curled as if around the hand of a beloved grandchild. She said: "I expected something different, from the description."

The conductor watched her with some amount of confusion. "And where did you hear this train described before?"

"From the only people to ride it and live to tell the tale," she said, and smiled sharply. 

The conductor bowed then, out of respect for a hero. 

She paid no attention, still staring at the train. "I expect Strago is doing well," she mused, "and it will be nice to see Setzer again. I never got a chance to scold him for taking that race. Really, challenging a couple children half his age-!" She shook her head with motherly irritation. "He never did care for common sense. But I missed him, these past years...I missed all of them. Even Shadow. I wonder what he'll say to that."

The conductor shrugged and offered his hand to help her board. She ignored that as well, but turned to pin him with a dark, questioning gaze. "Tell me," she asked, "what happened to the espers when the magic died?"

"They disappeared," he said, "and I do not know where they went. Where did the gods go, when you killed them?"

The old woman nodded, as if she had expected the answer. "I felt half of myself die then, and always wondered where she went. Where does smoke go, when it rises? Where does fire go, when it dies? But I think I know now: she's a part of the earth, and watches over our children." 

The conductor had no reply to that. The old woman didn't seem to expect one, just took the conductor's hand to board the train instead.

"My mother is waiting for me too, in the other land," she said thoughtfully, and this time her smile was gentle, framed by curls starting to wash green. "I never had the chance to think about it, not like my friends, but...I'm looking forward to meeting her."


End file.
